


Try

by Kirrain



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Revolver
Genre: Coughing, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Diagnosis, Doctor/Patient, Feels, Gen, Major Illness, Sick Character, Sickfic, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirrain/pseuds/Kirrain
Summary: Hosea can't ignore his illness any longer and, reluctantly, visits a doctor in a nearby town to get a diagnosis.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Original Female Character(s), Susan Grimshaw & Hosea Matthews
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Try

**Author's Note:**

> Written as per a request I received on Tumblr.

Hosea was never one to confide in doctors, but in the past few weeks his condition had become too severe to ignore. Arthur, Dutch, and Susan, having witnessed several fits, insisted he get checked out, and truthfully, though he wouldn’t admit it outright, he was beginning to worry himself. After much deliberation, he swallowed his pride and visited the local clinic of a town the gang were camped nearby. He skimmed the hallway, noticing how vacant it seemed, with the exception of a single young woman who appeared to be on her way out. She stopped when she spotted him, seemingly confused by his presence.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Hosea skewed to the left, trying to see into the office. "Is the doctor in?"

"Not on Sunday, sir. I'm just here to grab a book I forgot to take home."

Hosea flinched, looking at the door, then back at the girl. "So, he won't be in at all today?"

"If it's an emergency I can send for him, but it'll cost double. Everyone knows the clinic is closed on the sabbath. Is this an emergency, sir?"

"No, not an emergency. I just ... the thing is I travel a lot. Never know when I'll be on the move and—"

He coughed suddenly, hunching forward and clutching his chest. His lungs gurgled as he tried to catch his breath, his free hand pushing against the wall for purchase. The girl watched, her concern mounting the longer he struggled, until she instinctively ran to his aid.

"Try breathing through your nose, not your mouth," she said, helping him keep on his feet. "It'll make you less dizzy. In through your nose, out slowly through your mouth."

He did as instructed, though it wasn't easy. The air rushed through his nostrils, but the cramping in his chest forced it back out just as quickly. After some time lapsed, his gasping settled to slow, steady breaths, though his lungs whistled in betrayal.

"I thought you said this _wasn't_ an emergency," the girl said, letting him lean on her shoulder for support.

"It's not," he huffed, backing away, embarrassed. "That just ... happens. It comes and goes."

"That's not normal."

"Don't I know it," he attempted to chuckle.

The girl sighed, taking a moment to ponder. "Look, I'm not technically a doctor, but he's been teaching me. If you want, I can examine you myself. I'm more than qualified."

Hosea froze, uncertain. "That doesn't sound—"

"I've helped him with tons of patients. He needs an assistant often and he doesn't care what's between my legs. I hope you'll afford me the same courtesy, especially since I also don't care what's between yours. All I see is a very sick patient who I _might_ be able to help today. The alternative is I send for him, you pay double for his trouble, and wait around for an hour until he arrives, or you come back another day."

Hosea smiled, admiring her tenacity. "I don't have to get naked, do I?"

"Very funny," she scoffed, gesturing to the office. "Take a seat."

He obliged, walking past and nearly collapsing into the chair. He was exhausted, his chest still throbbing from the attack, though he did his best to hide it.

"I don't think it's TB," he said, preemptively.

"I don't either," she assured him. "You'd be showing other physical signs, mainly around your eyes and cheeks." She grabbed a small, wooden stick from a jar sat on the counter. "Open your mouth and say 'ah'."

" _Ah_..."

He winced, the taste horrible and texture scratching against his tongue as she inspected.

"Hmm, very good. Nothing wrong with your throat. In fact, your mouth is remarkably healthy for a man your age."

"Your bedside manner leaves much to be desired."

The girl laughed, tossing the stick into the trashcan and moving to a small drawer at the back of the room. "How old are you?"

"See what I mean about that bedside manner?"

"I'm serious," she snickered. "I need to know. It could be important."

"Fifty-five,” he groaned, defeated. “Bet this building isn't even that old."

"And you'd be right," she teased, rummaging through the drawer's contents.

"Bedside. Manner." His brow furled when she pulled out a stethoscope. " _Ugh_ , I hate those things. They're always cold and look like they're gonna electrocute me."

The girl frowned, then rubbed the diaphragm between her palms. "How's _that_ for bedside manner, Mister...?" She trailed off, realising she'd neglected to ask his name.

"Lavoie. Mathias Lavoie, originally from Québec. I work in trade, which is why I'm always traveling."

"That so?" she said, her tone skeptical. "Strange. You'd think a man who works in trade would know most places are closed on Sundays."

“Things is different up in Canada,” he grinned, unbothered by her deduction. “ _Mondays_ most things are closed for us, which is pretty much the exact opposite of a Sunday.”

The girl stifled an encroaching laugh, both amused and riled by the strange man’s obvious charade.

"You don't need to take it off," she carped, seamlessly changing the subject. "But I do need you to unbutton your shirt."

"Well, well! A lady hasn't said that to me in years," he quipped. "I'm flattered."

"S-sir!" she lisped, deflecting his charm. "I realise this is your way of coping, but you need to take this seriously. Please unbutton your shirt."

Though reluctant, he cooperated, twisting his neckerchief backwards and undoing the first three notches. Despite their spirited banter, the young woman suddenly adopted a strict nature of professionalism, which took Hosea by surprise Gently, she placed the cap on his breast and listened intently.

"Breathe deeply." He did, but partway through coughed uncontrollably. "I know it's difficult, but I need you to keep trying. If you need to cough, though, please allow yourself. I can tell you’re trying to hold it in, but there’s no need. All that’ll do is make things worse."

They repeated the steps, but every time Hosea succumbed to the tempest stirring in his lungs.

"W-wait..." he wheezed, lurching forward and hugging his torso. "I don't think ... I can keep going."

"Just one more thing," she said, putting the stethoscope aside. "Hold your arms out like this."

She made a T pose, and though nearing his limit, Hosea copied the motion. Immediately she noticed his left arm hung slightly lower, so she started with the right, gradually raising it until fully erect. To that Hosea grunted, but overall, he didn't react.

"That hurt?" she asked, helping him lower it onto his lap. "Be honest with me."

"...A little."

"I'm sorry, but I promise it's necessary."

When she grasped his left arm, Hosea trembled, now aware of what she planned to do. As she raised it higher, barely reaching his chin, a sharp pain stabbed at his lower lung, causing an onslaught of exasperated tusses. It was louder than before, more violent, and took him far longer to alleviate. His eyes watered, drool and phlegm soaking the floor between his boots as he choked and grumbled, clinging to the arms of the chair for relief.

"Easy," the girl winced, stroking his back in tender circles. "Don’t panic and remember what I said, breathe through your nose. Purse your lips as well, to give yourself more control."

When it was over, he shot her an aggravated glance, but his heart sank when he sensed her genuine sorrow. Without a word, she picked up the stethoscope, cleaned it, and returned it to the drawer, giving him a moment to brace himself.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice cracking. "What's wrong with me?"

The girl grabbed a stool and sat next to him, folding her hands in compassion. "Could be emphysema ... could be something worse. Whatever it is, I'm afraid it's degenerative, and it’s spreading through your left lung."

Hosea's eyes bulged. "Meaning what?"

The girl paused. "I—”

"Ignore that. I know exactly what you mean."

For a while, they sat in silence.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"How long do I have?"

"It's hard to say, but given your age, your lifestyle, the bits of blood in your spit ... maybe five years tops? Less, if you keep smoking."

“How do you know I smoke?” he poked, somewhat playfully.

She grimaced. "I checked your mouth, remember? Plus, I can smell it on your clothes and see it on your nails. There’s signs everywhere."

“God help the man who ever _dares_ try to lie to you."

She cracked a smile. "Look, I know it's a controversial stance, but sucking smoke into your lungs, the doctor believes, simply isn't healthy. Could even be what caused this."

"Five years..." he muttered, squeezing his knees.

"Possibly less. I don't mean to sound harsh, but you need to keep that in mind."

"And there's nothing can be done?"

"Try ginseng, ginger, garlic, echinacea, if you can find any, and avoid cold and damp environments. Swamps and industrial cities will be especially acrid, so stay clear. Also drink lots of water, portion your food, don’t eat late at night, take breaks during the day, and don’t overexert yourself. The less labour, the better. Then there's the obvious; don't drink, don't smoke, don't chew tobacco, but … I've had these conversations before and patients rarely listen.”

Hosea chuckled, lowering his head. "Yeah, I’ll be honest with you, I’m not gonna stop smoking. Don’t think I can. And if I'm gonna die anyway, I might as well enjoy the time I got left."

"Death by vices. It's common enough," the girl said, crossing her arms. "But it’s also something we doctors try our darndest to prevent in—" She cut off, blushing. "Th-that is to say … I’m not really a doctor, so I guess I don’t have the right to lecture."

Hosea stood, reaching into his pocket and handing her a few crumpled bills. "Could’ve fooled me. And believe me, my dear, that’s hard to do."

The girl stared, unwilling to accept. "N-no, that’s not neces—"

"It’s very necessary."

"But I told you, I’m not a real—"

"This country is changing and fast," he said, slipping the money into her hand. "Shame I guess I won’t be around to see if it changes for the better." He tipped his hat and sauntered to the door, stopping just under the archway. "But you know? I hope it does. Hope the people do. Maybe I have time left to steer some friends in the right direction."

"Sir?"

"Thank you, my dear," he said, offering a kind smile. "Never stop trying to be better. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go convince some others to do the same."


End file.
